


Unto the Breach

by AParisianShakespearean



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Acting, Drama Class, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Humor, MGiT, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Rating May Change, Rating will change, Shakespeare, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teaching, Theatre, kind of crack fic but not really, please don't take this fic too seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-01-17 03:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12356517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: After throwing a temper tantrum at her college and landing in this thing called the "Inquisition,” Lucy, upon realizing she can live her dream of teaching the wonders of Shakespeare while also avoiding the dungeon, proposes drama lessons for the Inquisitor's troops, followed by an epic production of Henry V to be put on by her students. Only problem? Well, aside from the fact she just got zapped into a strange and magical world with no conceivable way of getting back, her perfect Henry wants nothing to do with this foolishness. Well. Lucy did always believe in the power of the bard's words. And if he got her here, surely, he could get her Cullen Rutherford.STORY ON HIATUS





	1. Lucy, the no good, very bad day, and how it got worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This isn't a self insert at all. 
> 
> Hahah, in truth it is and it isn't. This idea wouldn't let me go, and I drew a lot of stuff from Lucy's experiences from my own. If anything, I would say she's more like the me I was years ago, times ten and way bitchier. Please indulge me.  
> Rated E for later chapters

The day that started off bad but became much, much worse, all started with the callboard.

Auditions for the all female _Henry V_ at Lucy’s college happened the day before, and their director, Abigail, promised she would have the show cast by two PM the next day. The call board, the large billboard in the backstage of the theatre that posted all the news from Cumberland College’s theatre department both crushed and made dreams, and as Lucy stepped into the backstage area from the theatre wing, she prayed only one thing, and one thing only: that today, glorious, beautiful today with the sun streaming and her hopes high, would finally be the day that her dreams would come true, and she would get a part.

She was in her second year of her masters at Cumberland School for the Arts, and even though the school’s policy of “everyone gets cast once” was supposedly in effect, she had yet to be cast in a show. This was even more soul crushing the year before, when the school was doing _Macbeth_ , the play that got her into Shakespeare and his canon in the first place. In truth she did love all his works, such as _Henry V_ , _the Winter’s Tale_ and others, but ever since she was a little girl and saw that production with the famous actress Katharina McKenna, she dreamed of being Lady Macbeth, and using her inherent sex appeal to convince a man to bow to her whims. Alas, Lucy’s dreams of reciting “Out out damned spot” while wearing a bathrobe as purple stage lights cast shadows on her face didn’t happen when she read Abigail’s cast list and found out her fellow classmate Heather Morton got the role.

It was soul crushing, sure, especially since Heather barely tapped the surface of Lady Macbeth’s ambition. Or at least, that was what Lucy thought. But, she rationalized, she was still new to the program. Next time, it would be her turn. Besides, Abigail had announced an all-female version of Shakespeare’s _Julius Caesar_ the next semester. That would be her chance. She could be Mark Antony, standing over Caesar, proclaiming “friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.”

Then, once again, Abigail didn’t cast her.

Unto the breach, so she said. That line was from Shakespeare’s _Henry V_ , and that line became her mantra. Her promise to move on. When she was assigned as the dramaturg and researcher for Julius Caesar, she made the best of it. Yes, she would rather have been on stage. But she was teaching Shakespeare to others. She was a part of the production, even though she was certain she could have done it so much better.

Oh, how she would long for the time when these things were her biggest concerns.

Of course though, no one ever imagines themselves being thrown into a vortex into another world, especially when so many other things are on their mind. Right now, Lucy was praying that her name would be on the cast list, and she would be a part of Abigail’s sequel to the all female _Julius Caesar_ , the all female _Henry V._ Cumberland College liked to push the envelope, and Abigail’s idea of the all female _Caesar_ was received well locally. Lucy may or may not have found it a little silly, (She preferred to do Shakespeare in the Renaissance period, like the great Laurence Olivier would have done it,) but if she was in this show, she would get to be on stage. She would get to recite his words. That’s all that mattered.

Heart thumping, she opened the door to the backstage area, turning to the callboard. Already there were a few girls beside it, huddled around. She recognized them all from my classes. Kaitlyn, Maddie, Lia and Britney, and immediately she felt a wash of second hand embarrassment. They were all in her audition group, and their renditions of their monologues from _As you Like it, The Winter’s Tale, King Lear, and Taming_ _of the Shrew_ respectively were nothing to write home about. Lucy noticed that Kaitlyn was crestfallen, her eyes toward the ground, but Maddie, Lia and Britney were turned away and she couldn’t see their face. Thus, she couldn’t discern if they were cast or not, and therefore couldn’t discern if her chances for being in the show were better.

Kaitlyn saw her, pushing her red hair back from her face. She didn’t say anything. That was usually a good sign. Typically, people didn’t congratulate others when they got cast, but they didn’t. Britney then turned from the board, patting Kaitlyn on the shoulder. By the way she was trying to hide her smile, Lucy could tell she had gotten a part. She hoped it was a bit part.

“Congrats to you too, Lia,” Britney said. “Same to you Maddie.”

“It’s alright Kaitlyn,” Maddie said. “Next time. Plus it’s only your first year.”

“But what if I end up like Lucy? She’s in her second year, is going to graduate soon, and she hasn’t been cast yet!”

She didn’t process it. Not at first. Then, her copy of Shakespeare’s complete works, along with her Arden edition of _Henry V_ , came crashing to the floor with a loud thud.

Britney shook her head. “Shouldn’t have said that dumbass.”

“She would have found out anyway,” Maddie pointed out.

Blinking, Lucy quickly scrambled to pick up her books before she placed her finger on the callboard. It wasn’t though she expected to be Henry, even though reciting “Unto the breach” and all his other speeches would have been exhilarating. At least his love interest, Kate, the princess of France would have been nice. Or a soldier in the army even. Something. Anything. But nothing?

Again?

Her name wasn’t there. Heather Morton’s sure was though, right next to Henry’s name.

“I’m sorry Lucy,” Kaitlyn said.

“Turn blue.”

Whenever Lucy was earth shatteringly embarrassed, she found it hard to move or do anything, but somehow she managed to, nearly tripping over her feet as she made her way past the others through the hallway. She had a plan: run to her car, get a tub of Ben and Jerry’s at the gas station, then cry into the Cherry Garcia flavor as she stuffed her face in the car. All she needed to do was hold her tears until she made it. But just before the floodgates nearly got released, she realized where she had stumbled to.

On the stage of the grand theatre, the empty seats, that would be someday full of people not coming to see her, completely mocked her.

She wasn’t going to cry. Wasn’t. Going. To.

“Lucy?”

Lucy was startled, but when she saw Abigail in the audience, papers and coffee in her hand after finishing her period acting class, she straightened herself, “Um, hello,” Lucy said. Abigail was a hefty woman, light blonde hair that was trimmed to her shoulders and green eyes that always scrutinized. Often she wore her red glasses on top of her head, pushing her hair away, and today was no different. Sometimes she wore sundresses, other times, mom jeans and a collared shirt. Today was colored shirt and mom jeans day.

Abigail raised her eyebrows at Lucy. “You look nice,” she said.

Lucy thought she did too. She wore her favorite dress for the occasion, black and white floral patterns with short sleeves, and a skirt that bustled out. “Thanks,” Lucy said, pushing her long dark hair away from her face, the stage lights making her feel sweaty, along with everything else.

“It was a tough call,” Abigail said. “I saw so many good auditions.”

“And I wasn’t good enough, it seems,” Lucy muttered.

“Lucille. I—”

“Look. I know I had a good audition," Lucy said. "I stood up here, said Hermione’s lines from _the Winter’s Tale_ , and I felt it. I was Hermione for Pete’s sake!”

“You weren’t Hermione. You kept doubting yourself. You went up there, slated, and looked like you didn’t belong.”

“I so too belonged!” Lucy scoffed. When she went up on the stage and slated with her name, _Lucille Hart, I’ll be performing a monologue from_ The Winter’s Tale, she had never felt more powerful and commanding. She had a shit eating grin she had to wipe off her face before she even began speaking. In fact, she thought she was a little too conceited when she was up there. But…apparently.

“Is it because I’m fat or something?” Lucy suddenly asked. “For Pete sakes. I’m a freaking twelve. A twelve! That’s average for an American woman. But is it because I’m not a two I can’t be on stage? I saw all the names mind you. I know. You can’t discriminate against me, you’re fat too!”

“Um…Lucy…”

But she couldn’t stop. “Look. I liked working with you on _Julius Caesar_. But I told you I wanted to be on stage!”

“You said you liked being a dramaturg and researcher, and I am trying to help you for your future career,” Abigail stated, voice raising. “And look. Lucille. You’re just not that good of an actress.”

“Not that good of an actress?” Lucy bellowed. “Not that good of an actress? I won three acting awards in my life!” Sure they were in high school, but they counted. “Well. If you can’t appreciate my acting, then I won’t work as a researcher for this either! I’ll just take my _Henry V_ analysis I wanted to share with you somewhere else.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to work on this production anyway Lucille.”

Well it was a shame. Her insight to the text would have been necessary. It wasn’t as though Abigail was doing a good job of teaching Shakespeare. No self respecting bard lover would ever dare think someone like Sir Francis Bacon or Christopher Marlowe wrote Shakespeare’s works, rather than Shakespeare himself. And she wasn't shy about mentioning that in her classes, even though it was wrong, wrong, and wrong.

Lucy knew one thing. She could do better. She was a better actor than they all said, and she was a damn better teacher.

Right then and there. She had the idea, and goal.

“I can teach others Shakespeare better than any of you here!” she proclaimed.

And there was Abigail, looking at her with mocking eyes. “I’d like to see you try.”

And this, well. This was where it started. Where the bad day became worse.

“It’s like _Henry V_ says,” Lucy said, holding up her book. “ _Once more unto the breach dear friends. Once more._ ”

She always believed in the power of Shakespeare's words. His word sucking you into another dimension, however? 

Well. Forgive her if she didn't believe it at first.

 

* * *

 

She was convinced of one thing as she was falling: she got drunk, blacked out the last part of her day after yelling at Abigail, and now in her dream. she was falling for a fucking long time. She was convinced this was a lucid dream.

Ah, to be that naive again.

Her screams became caught in her throat as the swirling vortex, or whatever the hell it was sucked her in, making her skirt fly up and the wind knock the product out of her hair. She had to admit this was a pretty lifelike dream, the wind never felt realer. She was like Alice falling through the rabbit hole, only eventually Alice landed in the story, and Lucy was unsure that she would ever land.

Maybe it was only a minute. Maybe it was ten, maybe it was a hundred, in this dream she had, but eventually Lucy began to bargain. _Dear god. I am sorry I am such a bitch. I’m sorry I insulted the other girls in my class. I am sorry I insulted Abigail and called her fat, even though I called myself fat too. But calling people fat is bad. As is insulting their vision for their play. I do like researching Shakespeare, I do like acting. I will gladly though just do what I did before. I will do nothing so long as I just freaking land and wake up._

She shrieked. It was getting colder. It was getting colder. Damn this was one crazy dream. 

“What in Andraste’s name is…”

Did she hear a name? She was still falling, but who the bloody hell was Andraste?

“Ahhhhh!!!!!!”

“Solas, what…Who?”

“I don’t…”

“Ahhhh!”

Lucy’s scream ceased as soon as she landed, but though she knew she stopped, she still felt like she was falling. Dream over now, and she must have waken up, though her eyes were still closed. Wherever she was on campus or in Cumberland City after she blacked out  was freezing cold, and her summer dress was doing nothing. And she was in someone's arms.

“Hey…who are you? You don’t look like a demon?”

The voice was coming from whoever was holding her. “I’m…a demon?” she scoffed. “Why would you think...?”

She screamed again when she opened her eyes.

“Woo, woo,” the man with ashy skin, eye patch and horns on his head said. The hugest man she had ever seen. “I’m not going too—”

“Put me down you fiend!” Lucy screamed, kicking and thrashing until she was tumbling on the snow. She must have somehow landed in someone’s LARP game, but she had never heard of a character that looked like how the man that held her looked. The closer she inspected, the more she realized that the makeup job was pretty good. She still though didn’t like being touched by someone she just met. Did she collapse somewhere and he picked her up?

“I don’t think she’s a demon,” someone else was saying.

Lucy turned to the source of the voice. Before she could quip that of course she wasn’t a demon, a blonde haired woman with facial tattoos and a bow and arrow came up to her. She reached Lucy’s boobs, and had pointy ears. Back in the day Lucy used to cosplay for _Lord of the Rings_ , but she never was able to get prosthetic ears that looked that good.

It all made sense now. She must have just blacked out after insulting Abigail, and was somewhere in the city. Someone laced her muffin that morning, or she left the theatre, got drunk, and wandered until she forgot what happened after the incident in the theatre. All she would have to do was go back to the theatre, apologize profusely to Abigail, and all would be well. She just needed to know where she was in order to get back. And figure out why it was winter here, because when she left the apartment, she was pretty sure it was summer. Well, global warming did weird things, right?

“Is this a LARP group I don’t know about on campus or something?” Lucy asked. “Who are you people?”

“My name is Halia,” the girl with the elf ears said. “And—”

“Stop. Herald.”

Lucy turned to the sound of boots crunching in the snow, and the man that was wearing them. He was tall, with blonde hair that was swept back, and a face that needed a razor. His LARP costume was the most intricate, a suit of armor with pauldrons and vambraces, and a whole lot of other things Lucy knew the name of, because being a Shakespearean meant researching various armors from the Renaissance. He also wore a mantle made of fur, that gave him the appearance of a lion. She hadn’t seen this man on campus before. She would have remembered.

“Cullen,” the girl with elf ears said. “She…”

“She fell from the sky. She must be a demon. Solas, do you—”

“I sense nothing,” another person with elf ears said, this time a bald man. “No magic. Nothing.”

“Wait a minute,” Lucy stated, walking over to the one with the mantle. “You can’t call me a demon. Who do you think you are, anyway? Yeah that’s a cool costume and all, but—”

“Guards!”

Lucy stiffened, as suddenly she became aware of about twenty arrows from all around pointed at her, from various sides of this crater, or whatever the hell it was that they were standing on.

“Wow,” Lucy said. “Those are some tragic uniforms." Pea green did nothing. "But I got to say, way to go with the realism thing. You guys are the most intense LARP group I have ever met.”

“I don’t know who you think you are,” the blonde man said. “But if you do not…”

“Hey,” the girl with the elf ears announced suddenly from behind Lucy. “What’s Shakespeare? What’s Henry Vee?”

“Henry the fifth,” Lucy corrected, flabbergasted and a little insulted that someone was asking about who Shakespeare was. Like…it was Shakespeare. Everyone knew who Shakespeare was. “Come on. Haven’t you been in a high school English class?”

She blinked, holding Lucy's books that must have fallen from her. “What’s high school?”

"You have to know what the hell a high school is, stop acting now," Lucy snapped. "This act is going on far too long. Look. I don’t know where I am on campus, but the last thing I remember was yelling at my director Abigail, because she didn’t cast me in her all female _Henry V_ , and now I’m here, and if someone can take me back to the Oakdell parking lot on the college campus, I can get in my car, and we can all pretend like this didn’t happen.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the elf girl said. “But you haven’t made sense since you fell from the breach.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows. “The breach? Like a hole?” Like in _Henry V,_ and his speech. _Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more…_

“The hole in the sky. The hole that made the rifts appear,” the male dressed as an elf said.

“A rift?” Lucy repeated. “Wait a minute. Who…what…”

She ran over to the elf girl. Pulled on her ears.

“Ow!” She exclaimed. “You’re hurting me!”

“It’s fake!” Lucy said. “It’s going to come off!”

“They’re attached to my head! Of course they won’t come off!”

“Yes they will! Yes they…”

One more time. One hard tug.

They weren’t coming off.

The girl, the elf, rubbed her ears in pain as Lucy ran to the man with the horns. Reached to them and pulled. They weren’t coming off either.

He laughed. “I don’t know if you’re a demon or not, but you’re fucking funny!”

This…what?

_What the bloody fuck was...am I...parallel universe?_

She faced the man with the fur mantle. The most normal looking one there. And yet he was the one that was the strangest of all.

“This is Thedas,” he said. “And you are going to the dungeon.”

Soldiers were around her. Surrounding her.

She gulped. “Once more unto the breach,” she shouted. “Once more unto the…”

And that’s how Lucy’s bad day became a million times worse, and how she fell, once more, unto the breach. Unto the breach, and into Thedas.

And that was when she fainted.


	2. Cullen, the headache, and the need for earplugs

“Commander. Cullen. I can’t take this anymore. Please. If ye make me stand and listen to that screaming lass anymore, I swear I'll wring yer neck.”

When Rylen was either angry or frustrated, his Starkhaven accent was far more pronounced. “What of Solas?” Cullen asked, the two standing outside the gates of Haven. “What has he determined?”

“Well, after she woke up, she started screaming like a cat at the moon. He couldn’t take it anymore either and left.” Rylen began counting on his fingers. “Let’s see. We have demons of despair, rage, and now we have a headache demon.”

“Was that really what Solas said?”

“No. Solas doesn’t think she’s a demon,” Rylen clarified. “But she sure screams like one.”

Rylen was but the third in the series of guards that had stood by her cell, and Cullen was sure that the rest would agree that “the demon of headache” was the best and most apt way to describe the woman that fell from the breach and into Bull’s arms. Soon after she fainted in the temple of Sacred Ashes, and the guards carted her to Haven, she woke up and immediately demanded that her books were returned. Cullen had them looked through by Fiona, who determined that the tomes, titled the _Complete works of Shakespeare_ , and the Arden edition of _Henry V_ weren’t spells or anything else, but just ordinary books. With nowhere else to put them, the books landed in his trunk.   
  
“Cullen. Did you really have to lock the prisoner away?”

Cullen sighed at Halia, the Herald of Andraste. While Cullen was wary initially of Halia, he had come to see her as more than the Herald. Perhaps a friend even, even if he made no bones of telling her he didn’t approve of the way she brought the mages in. But there had been no incidents so far, and the breach was sealed, as they promised it would be. He missed the days when giant holes tearing the veil apart was the strangest thing that had happened.

“Yes Herald. The prisoner is a threat while she remains in Haven. She must be kept in the dungeon.”

Halia’s green eyes turned downcast. She was a young girl, and had just turned twenty when the conclave was destroyed. Her personality was affable and easy, and her green eyes, coupled with long blonde hair and an open, cheery face made her easy to get along with. In a moment of relative peace as Cullen trained the soldiers, she had told Cullen that she had just received her vallaslin, which were two mirroring decorative sweeps on her cheeks. With the markings she was finally regarded as an adult in her clan, and one of the first things her Keeper asked of her was to go and check in at the Conclave. And that was how she ended up the Herald of Andraste, of all things. Maybe that was how it was meant to be.

She was smart, and she never complained about what happened to her. But sometimes, with the mages and with this new situation, Cullen found her a little naïve.  
“Herald,” he began, not wanting to talk down to her, but trying to make her understand, “she fell from the breach before it closed.”

“Solas says she’s not dangerous.”

“Her crying is,” Rylen said.

“I thought she was funny,” Halia muttered. “So did Bull. He thinks we should let her go too.”

“I can’t—that’s preposterous!” Cullen shouted. “If she came from the breach, that means she fell from the fade. She may not be a demon, but that doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous!”

“I’ll talk to her,” Halia suggested. “I can—”

“No,” Cullen said, firmly. You can’t do that.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

Cullen groaned, once more. They just patched back their relationship after his display in the chantry when the mages were brought in as free allies. He had no desire to earn her ire once more. “I’ll go speak to her,” he suggested, “with guards and templars present.”

“Not this templar.”

“Yes, this templar.”

Grabbing a reluctant Rylen, as well as Lysette, Cullen set out for the dungeon, his retinue behind him. Varric shook his head when he saw them pass by, as did Leliana as they passed her tent, and Vivienne placed her hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes as they made it inside the chantry, Josephine seeing them and rushing toward them.

“Um, Cullen,” she began, “perhaps we should just let her go.”

“Let her go?” Cullen repeated. “She fell from the breach!”

“Solas says there is nothing remarkable about her, as does Fiona, and everyone else that has had a look at her.”

“Yeah, but have you heard her yell?” Rylen asked. “She sounds like a cat in heat.”

“We will talk to her,” Cullen said, “I’ll determine if she’s dangerous, and if not…well. We’ll see.”

“Should have got some ear plugs mate,” Rylen muttered as they ascended down to the dungeons. They couldn’t see the woman initially, as she was in the furthest cell at the end, and she must have been sitting down and taking a break from her angry tirade. She must have heard them however. They were halfway there when she shot up, rushing over to the bars and placing her hands on them.

“You!” She spat at Cullen, before glancing at Rylen. “And you…you two!”

“Oh here she goes,” Rylen cried. “Lystette, dispel her, or…”

“No!” the woman cried. “Do not dispel me….whatever the fuck that means...” Cullen inched closer and she cried out. “Do not come here!…I have pepper spray on my…” she dug into the pocket of the strange dress she was wearing. “Well. I _had_ pepper spray, I must have left is somewhere. Uh…still. Don’t come near me, or I’ll…do something about it!”

“Speak the common tongue, would you at least?” Rylen demanded next to him. “Pepper spray, Shakespeare you said earlier…”

“Are you from Scotland?” The woman asked.

“Starkhaven,” Rylen corrected. “Never bloody heard of Scotland.”

“What the bloody fuck is Starkhaven?”

“Profanity!” Lysette exclaimed, scandalized.

“She fell from the breach and you’re concerned about her saying fuck?” Rylen spat. "Are you—"

“Alright you two!” Cullen interrupted, before turning his attention back to the screaming woman. “Now. Tell us. Where did you come from?”

“First you will get me out of here!”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes you fucking can!”

“Alright, alright, enough profanity,” Cullen said, finally having enough. “Now. Begin. Tell us. How did you fall from the breach?”

“The breach? What was the breach?”

“The giant hole in the sky that was tearing the veil apart,” Cullen patiently explained.

“The veil, what’s the veil?”

“You don’t…know what the veil is?”

“Dude. I don’t know where the hell I am! How the fuck should I know what the Veil is? Oh god…what’s happening to me? Did I have too many drinks? I remember falling! Parallel universes…what the fuck is this place…how can I get back? What are my parents going to say? What’s Abigail going to say? Is she looking for me?”

Dumbstruck, Cullen, Rylen and Lysette all stared as the woman walked back and forth in her strange flat shoes, terribly unsuited for the snow and mountains. Equally as unsuited was the dress she was wearing. It was black and white with a floral pattern, with short sleeves and a skirt that only reached her knee. The woman was tall, at least as tall as Cassandra, Cullen figured, with long dark brown hair that was long and loose, and in disarray. Her skin was tanned from the sun, and her eyes were brown. From her features she could have been from anywhere. Ferelden, Orlais, Nevarra or the Marches, but the way she spoke, and the strange language she used, she didn’t seem to be from anywhere familiar. And as she continued to walk back and forth, muttering a litany of curses and phrases in what he assumed was a way to calm herself down, he couldn’t make out any of what she was saying.

Eventually though, she stopped, placing her hands back on the bars and peaking at them all with her large, brown eyes, lined darker with cosmetics, or so he assumed. He wasn’t well versed in that subject.

“Please,” she begged. “If I am going to die here. Please. Give me back my Shakespeare books!”

“Can someone please tell me who Shakespeare is?” Rylen asked.

“He wrote the greatest plays in the world, and I pity everyone who doesn’t know who he is.”

“That’s everyone here,” Cullen muttered.

“I know! It’s like living in a world where all the good things have been sucked out, and replaced with stupid!”

Tears streamed down the girl’s face, and Cullen found himself sighing. He was almost feeling sorry for this girl. “This place isn’t stupid,” he said,

“What do you mean? I’ve landed in some parallel universe where we’re in the Spanish Inquisition or something! Only with elves…and a giant…horned person. A worm hole! And

I’m going to contract bubonic plague, and I am going to die!”

She fell on the ground in a heap, sobbing all the way. “Pathetic,” Lysette muttered, while Rylen just shook his head.

Glancing back and forth between the two of them, Cullen motioned for them. “Here,” he said. “Maybe you two should leave. I’ll talk to her.”

“Is that wise Commander?” Lysette asked. “What if she tries to attack you?”

At that very moment, the sobbing grew louder, wails echoing off the stone walls.

“I think he’ll be fine,” Rylen surmised. “Well. Maybe he’s ears won’t be.”

With one last look, both Rylen and Lysette exited the dungeon. The cries were getting quieter now, and as Cullen knelt to the floor, trying to get to her eye level, he called to her to try to get her to stop. Once, twice, another time. No response.

“Um. Excuse me?” Cullen asked, reluctantly sticking his hand through the bars. “I want—”

“Don’t touch me!”

Shrieking an unholy shriek, she jutted away from him, to the farthest corner of the cell. “Don’t touch me!” She said. “Space bubble. I have a space bubble! You can’t be in my space bubble!”

“I wasn’t trying to get into your space bubble!” Cullen said, rising again. “I only want you to answer a few questions.”

Her skirt had hiked up, revealing quite a bit of her long legs. Cullen averted his eyes from them, as she forcefully pulled the skirt down, giving him a nasty look in the process. Fire was in her brown eyes, and Cullen wondered how many others had seen that look and survived it. He should have been considering himself fortunate.

“Ask,” she said. “But on one condition. You answer my questions too.”

“Deal,” he replied, the request sounding reasonable.

“I’ll go first. Okay. First things first: What the bloody fuck is the place?”

“Excuse me,” Cullen interjected. “You fell from the sky. I am asking the first question.”

She rolled her eyes. “I already asked a question. Answer it.”

“I will do no such thing!”

“For the love of Pete man, if we are going to stand here, at least do me the curtesy of answering a question when I ask one!”

Cullen blinked. “Who’s Pete?”

She shrieked again, and Cullen wished, more than anything in the world, that the Inquisition would have invested in some earplugs.

 

* * *

 

After a lot of tears, yelling, and a back and forth banter that involved a lot of “No way!” and “what the fuck?” Lucy had learned a few things about where she currently was.

First of all, she was in a place called Haven, in some place called Ferelden, which was in some continent called Thedas, and she had landed in the middle of “the Inquisition.” Not the Spanish Inquisition apparently, (and when she asked about it, it led to more confused stares) but an Inquisition created to restore order in the world, because there was a giant hole in the sky that was spewing demons from it. Recently, it also spewed Lucy. That was before the Herald, (The elf girl named Halia that Lucy met.) closed it however.

“So. Spirits and demons exist here…like for real?” Lucy asked. “And like, so do elves, and giant people with horns on their head?”

“Qunari.”

“Cue-nary? What about witches and wizards?”

“Mages, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh that is badass!” Lucy exclaimed. “Do they go to Hogwarts? Or something like Hogwarts?”

“I don’t know what…Hogwarts is,” he said, brows furrowing.

She was going to have to remember that these people didn’t have the same point of references that she did. “Like a school?” She offered. “You know, a place where they can hone in their skills.”

“They went to the Circle, at least they did until it fell apart.”

“And they fell apart because…?”

“That can be your next question. Answer this first: what is your name?”

“Lucy,” she replied. “Well. Lucille Hart.” She realized something after a minute. “Wait a minute. What’s your name?”

“I am Knig—Commander Cullen,” he said. “Former Knight Commander of Kirkwall. Currently, Commander of the forces of the Inquisition.”

Impressive title, though she would never admit it. “Okay, so what happened with the Circle, and is there anything else I should know about this place? Like what…”

“No, it’s your turn now to answer a question,” Cullen said. “How did you get here?”

She rolled her eyes, annoyed he was still insisting on this “ask a question, answer a question” thing they had started. She relented though, already realizing that this man was stubborn as a mule. Well, a good looking mule, at any rate. If only just slightly. “I got here,” she began, setting the stage for the events, “From my school. My college. Cumberland College. I was on stage, talking to my director Abigail, when I told her I knew more about Shakespeare than she did. And then I shouted, “Once more unto the breach,’ and now here I am. And I don’t know if this is some alternate reality, or parallel world, or some dream that I’m having trouble waking up from…even though I have to pee…I don’t know, do people know when they have to pee in their dreams?”

“I am…not answering that,” Cullen said.

“Look. I don’t know how to get back. I’ve said it a thousand times, ‘once more unto the breach,’ but it hasn’t worked. What am I supposed to do if it’s not working?”

“I don’t know. In all my readings in the Circle, I’ve never heard of something like this before.”

“Wait. Are you a wizard?” Excitement mounted. “Can you show me some of your powers?”

“I am not a mage,” he stated flatly, and with some trepidation. “No. I was a templar.”

The only templars she had heard about were from the _Assassins Creed_ franchise. She doubted they had any similarities, but to be on the safe side, she asked what a templar did. He sighed as he explained. Apparently in this world, “magic was meant to serve man and never rule over him,” which sounded kind of lame to Lucy. Templars then were run by the chantry, which was a whole kettle of fish she didn’t want to ask about (though she assumed it was a religious organization.) until they broke away because, yadda yadda, a lot of technical stuff that was lost on her. Chantry supposedly not representing the best interests of the templars, mages running amok, more nonsense.

Lucy though was beginning to realize that magic was treated very differently in this world than it was in Harry Potter’s world. It seemed to her like people were afraid of it, and that’s why the templars were established. It made sense in theory, it was kind of intimidating for one person to have the ability to shoot fire from their fingertips, but then again, in America any maniac could have a gun, and that was just as dangerous.

But pulling people from their homes, and making them stay at the Circle? It sounded…more than a little uncool.

“How can you get back?” Cullen asked. breaking her from her thoughts.

“I don’t know. I’m still not convinced this isn’t some dream,” Lucy admitted.

“This is no dream, unfortunately.”

“Wait. What do you mean, ‘unfortunately?’ I take offense to that!”

She could see that Cullen was suppressing the urge to scream, leave, or otherwise maim her. Of course, she was aware of the fact that a woman falling from the sky was likely putting a damper on his day, but speaking as the woman that had fallen from the sky, how on earth did he expect her to feel?

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get back,” Lucy said. “I really don’t.”

“You said you came from another time,” Cullen said. “There was similar magic used at Redcliffe, by a Tevinter magister. Perhaps one of his spells went awry, and that’s why you’re here. Perhaps he knows how to return you back.”

“Great. Where is he?” Lucy asked. “Bring him here. I’ll go back and never bother you people again. Never again will I shout ‘unto the breach’ on stage. At least not when I’m angry.”

“The report said he’s locked in Denerim’s jail.”

“Marvelous.”

For a long moment Cullen and Lucy stared at each other, neither person willing to say or do anything. And Lucy stood, baring the burden of being the woman that fell from the sky, with no conceivable way of going back home.

But then, maybe, just maybe…

“Maybe I’m supposed to write a book about all of this.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Come on, all the fantasies greats like Tolkein, and the Game of Thrones guy, maybe they themselves were zapped into strange, fantastical worlds, and that’s how they got all their ideas!”

“I don’t…”

“Why am I here?” Lucy demanded. “I have to be here for some reason. Maybe this is it!”

“You’re here because something went wrong,” Cullen said.

“Well…I never!” she exclaimed. “How dare you say that something went wrong!”

“You were saying so yourself earlier! Maker’s breath. I don’t have time for this.”

“Commander!”

“Wait…what are you…what’s going on?”

Another one of those scouts or soldiers or whatever they were came running over toward Cullen and started yammering about scouts in the mountain pass spotting something. Lucy, being an actress and therefore skilled at reading body language, knew exactly what was going on.

Cullen was frightened at this news.

“I’ll be right there,” he said. “Go meet Rylen.” He glanced at Lucy.

“Are you going to let me out?” Lucy asked. “I can’t do anything.”

“I don’t have the key with me,” Cullen said. “After this is dealt with, we’ll see.”

“Wait, where are you going? What the fuck dude? Seriously? What the fuck! And do not ruin my Shakespeare books! If you do, I swear to you, I will smite you, and…”

He was already gone, and Lucy huffed, sinking to the floor. Well, she thought. This was the lowest. There was no way this could suck more.

And to think all she had to do was wait a few hours.


	3. Where trust is fucking hard to come by

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the delay!

There comes a time in many people’s lives, where they may find themselves sitting back, covered in blankets in the middle of the mountains, freezing their tits off in the snow. During that time, a time in which a strange, odd, out of left field Disney style sing along just occurred, those people probably wondered: how the fuck did I get here?

Well. The truth was, no one before had ever been in that fucking situation. Save Lucille Hart. Actress, Shakespearean, owner of a foul mouth, owner of thousands of dollars in student loan debt, and recent modern girl in a fantasy world called Thedas. And hey, maybe someone had been tossed into another world, or dimension, or whatever before, but Lucy would have loved to meet them before something like this happened to her. She could have used a few pointers. Her LARP days had only taken her so far. As it was she was grateful things had quieted down, sitting on a fur throw in the mountains somewhere in buttfuck Ferelden, drinking a hot tea with a bloke named Varric. And at least she could take comfort in the fact that she wasn’t the first person to ever wonder how things had gotten so fucked up, though her circumstances were a little more…special than most.

Everything got fucked up, or at least more fucked up than it had been already, when Lucy heard rumbling. At first she thought it was the rumbling of her stomach, even though it sounded louder than maybe it should have. But it kind of made sense. She wasn’t sure how long she had been in that cell, but eventually she became aware of her craving for beef fajita tacos, which was to be her celebratory meal after she read the cast of Abigail’s play and saw her name on the list. (The first cruel twist of that day.) That mild craving eventually turned into an outright rumbling hunger rather than a pesky craving akin to the ones she got before her period, and she considered yelling and banging on the cells in some vain hope that the dipshit Commander Cullen would hear and bring her some sort of food. While he wasn’t the most pleasant person, she didn’t get the vibe that he was literally the worst person, and perhaps he would bring her something to eat if she asked. At that point, she was more or less resigned to the fact that this wasn’t a dream, and this was really really happening. If she were elsewhere, she could have thought up the philosophical and political ramifications of this, and the how the whole concept of time and space had completely altered, but whether it was the fact she was hungry, she was in a cell, or she had to pee, she wasn’t in the mood then.

There was also the question about what she should do about the whole peeing situation. Finally she decided to just use the pot at the side of the cell, (squeaking “Gross!” the whole way) and once that was done, she became even more aware of her rumbling stomach, and decided just to fuck it all. She was in a magical land. She could analyze how or why until she was blue in the face, but the point was, she was there. With a rumbling stomach, sure, but she was there. Cowards die many times before their death, Lucy reminded herself, but the brave die but once. She wasn’t going to let this kill her, even if she was pretty sure she had more reason to fall to the floor than most. It was, however, becoming more and more apparent that the rumbling wasn’t her stomach.

And then she heard the shouting and saw the people filtering in, running and screaming and otherwise acting like it was the end of the world and they were all going to die. Lucy, who typically took a moment to freak out, didn’t initially freak out. The freaking out started when she saw Cullen begin to filter people through a narrow passageway to the left of where she was, screaming about an “Elder One,” and “attacking templars.”

Then it occurred to her: the place was under attack.

“Go!” Cullen shouted, urging about two people through at a time. “Roderick says to follow until you get outside, but wait until I’m back.”

“Commander…!”

“Cassandra, go! Make sure their safe!”

A tall woman, one with shorter hair nodded, filtering through and helping others in the process before disappearing. There must have been about a hundred people that needed to be shuffled through, though the passageway wasn’t big enough for lots of people go walk through at the same time. People were hustling, some more apparent with their panic, while others were fueled with adrenaline. Lucy, meanwhile, wasn’t panicking. Not yet anyway. Wasn’t losing her cool. She already lost her cool. She wasn’t going to do it again, especially not with—

It was happening.

There she was. Freaking the fuck out.

“Wait! You, Cullen!” Lucy shouted, banging on the bars like a freaking hyena. “Get me out! Get me out!”

“You!” Cullen pointed right at her. “It was you wasn’t it! You started this?”

“Started what?” She demanded. “I was trapped here! I had to pee, and I was hungry! I didn’t start a fuck—"

“The templars! Did you…?”

“I just got here, I just learned what a templar was!”

“Um Curly, I don’t think—”

“Not now Varric!”

“Get her out, you idiot!”

The man who had piped up, Varric, looked to be a dwarf. Or at least Lucy assumed, though making assumptions were rude, and he could have just been a little person. But whatever he identified as, Lucy soon identified him as her hero. Motioning and yelling at her to back away, Lucy retreated to the farthest corner of the cell. He aimed his crossbow type of thing right at the door, and with a thundering crash, shot a bolt right to the lock, crashing it open with a loud thud. She scrambled out, barely registering Cullen’s look of disbelief and horror.

“You alright Yappers?” Varric asked, grabbing her arm.

“Yappers?” Lydia screeched, “What kind of a name is—”

“Just go with it, we need to leave, now!”

There was no time to look back, no time to do anything else, Lucy was rushed along the tunnelway, sandwiched in between two burly men, with Varric at her other side. Cardio wasn’t exactly in Lucy’s repertoire, and though she had longer legs than Varric, he was pulling her along to get her to reach his pace, and she was huffing and puffing the whole way.

“Where are we going?” she demanded. “What’s happening?”

“We need to escape!” Varric said. “We need to get out!”

“But why?”

“Corypheus.”

“Who? What the fuck is going on? I don’t—”

“Andraste’s ass, I don’t have time for this!”

“Hey, what are you doing? What’s going on….HEY!”

Long story short, Lucy was hit over the head with “Bianca,” Varric’s crossbow, and didn’t wake up until some time later. When she did she was covered in blankets and in the middle of the mountains, nursing the dull throb in her head. Before she could complain, curse, or otherwise tell Varric he was fucked for hitting over the head with his strangely named crossbow (Oh yes, he introduced her to it too) he was handing her a hot drink spiked with some sort of booze. She probably should have asked some sort of questions before she drank, but she did anyway, downing the thing. She didn’t realize how much she needed that booze.

She managed to calm down some and deem everything all right. Everything except for the fact that some ancient “darkspawn magister” bullshit with an army of angry red men had attacked Skyhold. The Herald, (Halia, the elf girl) had tried to make a heroic sacrifice but was saved by Cullen and Cassandra in the snow. She had frostbite and a few broken bones but was fixed up fine, and then all of a sudden everyone was singing a song Lucy didn’t know the words to. And even though no one knew what to do, they were stranded in the middle of nowhere, and had just been attacked, everyone seemed much better.

What. The. Fuck.

“Gotta say Yappers, you seem pretty calm now,” Varric observed. “How are you holding up?”

“I got the screaming out already,” she said, dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still freaking the fuck out, but it’s more of an internal thing, you know?”

“Ah.”

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do…how to get home, or…or even how I got here.”

The freaking out was still happening, yeah, but she was getting worried. Like sure, she was glad to leave her parents for college, but what was going on? Where they looking for her?

Varric took a swig of the spiked tea. “Maybe you should talk to Dorian,” he suggested.

Lucy asked who Dorian was, and Varric explained. A mage, one who had developed time magic with his mentor, or something. Lucy remembered Cullen had mentioned the strange magic while she was still in the cell. “Maybe that can get me back,” she said. “But what if it’s a one way thing and I can’t go back? Like sure, this might be cool to stay here for a little while, but I can’t stay here forever. I have plans.”

“Plans?”

“Actress,” she replied. “I am going to be famous.”

“Well you’re already pretty famous here. I don’t really know about elsewhere.”

Lucy sighed, falling when she remembered what she did. Her little temper tantrum in her college probably wasn’t the best thing to do, and falling into another world and almost getting in an avalanche was one way to put things in perspective. She knew though, and always did, that her attitude sucked. She also knew it was a thing she had to work on. But then she realized, with the speed of a freight train, she had bigger problems. Much bigger problems.

She frowned, and Varric put his hand on her back. Despite the fact he hit her in the face, she was growing to really like him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She thanked him, bundling up more. She wasn’t used to this sort of cold—being a Southerner and all. “It’s freezing!” she exclaimed. “How can you walk around with your chest all exposed?”

“Where do you even come from anyway?” Varric asked.

“Georgia,” she said. “United States of America.”

He looked like she may as well have been speaking gibberish, and frankly she probably was. She could have explained it to him, but she was in no mood of talking about the history of everything, or at least, the history of everything in her dimension. “It doesn’t matter,” she decided. “I’m here, and I have no immunity to whatever diseases might be crawling around here. I’d be lucky if I didn’t get the plague in the cell. Just my luck, to survive an avalanche, and to die via the plague!”

“You will not get the plague. There hasn’t been a case of the plague in a thousand years.”

Lucy crossed her arms when she saw him appear—Cullen. Again. She groaned.

“Looking better than you were,” Varric noted, Lucy suppressing the urge to give the man the finger. “How is Halia?”

“She’s talking to Solas,” Cullen said. “He knows of a ruins near here, that perhaps the Inquisition could use.”

“Who is Solas again?” Lucy asked.

“The bald elf,” Varric informed, before turning back to Cullen. “Hey, listen, Curly. She’s fine. Don’t—”

“I wasn’t going to suggest we tie her up,” Cullen said, running a hand through his hair the way Cool Guys did when they were frustrated or under a lot of stress.

“I didn’t make this happen, if that’s what you’re going to ask,” Lucy said, throwing her hands up. “Believe it or not, I preferred the cell to this. At least it was warm.”

“I’m sorry I put you in the dungeon.”

Lucy blinked. She thought she heard Cullen tell her he was sorry for putting her in the dungeon. “What?”

“I’m sorry, I did what I did,” Cullen said, slower this time.

Lucy glanced at Varric, who shrugged. “Take it Yappers,” he said. “Curly’s stubborn as a mule and doesn’t apologize often.”

“Are you really going to continue to call me Yappers?”

“It fits.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, standing up, and further pulling in the blankets around her. Had she known this would have happened, she would have rethought her outfit that morning. She was dressed for summer, not winter, and it was getting colder as the night came. She hoped they made clothes here in her size. Typically women in fantastical medieval worlds were thinner than her decently sized booty, and if she was going to be here longer, she would have a problem.  
Cold as she may have been, Cullen’s presence got her hot. And not the good kind of hot either. More so the angry kind that made it hard for her to concentrate.

“You,” she said to him, pointing. “We are going to have a chat.”

“Excuse me, I—”

“Chat with me. It’ll take five minutes of your time.”

Cullen wasn’t too thrilled, but he followed Lucy to the outskirts of the camp anyway, apparently deciding he didn’t want her to start screaming again. It was far enough away for them not to be heard, but close enough that others were still in view. He rubbed his neck as he waited for her to talk, ruffled his hair again.

“Are you really going to continue to do that?” she asked him. “Rub your neck, touch your hair too, I mean?”

“No,” Cullen said, putting his hand down.

“Okay then. Good. It’s a little excessive.”

“Was that what you wanted to discuss?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “Not that. Just, I want to tell you one thing. Or ask you something. You have like witches and wizards here, so that means, you must know someone who can get me back to where I am supposed to be. Like, Dorian maybe.”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Why don’t you?” She threw back at him. “I don’t know him.”

“Neither do I. He only decided to stay yesterday. And, I thought you said you were here for a reason.”

“I thought you said you wanted me out.”

He bit his lip. “Fair enough,” he huffed.

“I’ve seen enough of this place,” Lucy said. “So find a way to get me out of here.”

“I’m not sure if you have noticed, but…”

“Don’t use sarcasm on me. I know, we’re stranded. How about we get un-stranded then, and then we get this show on the road? Well, maybe not the first thing. But make it a priority.”

“Excuse me.” He straightened, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you ordering me around.”

“I was not ordering you around. I was telling you to do something for me.”

His face said it all, leaving Lucy to shake her head and start blubbering her half assed “sorry.” She didn’t mean to boss him around, though she got the feeling that it was something he needed desperately.

“I want to clarify it right now. You will not order anyone around,” Cullen ordered, with just the slightest bit of edge. Lucy could tell it was a voice he used often, it had a distinct practiced tone that only those accustomed to using that tone had. She would know, her mom and dad both had it.

And she had enough of it.

“You don’t talk to me like that,” she stated.

“You are a spoiled girl that came from the sky. I will—"

“Do not belittle me!”

Cullen, shocked, blinked at her. It infuriated her even more, and she poked him, right in his chest. She didn’t know what to expect, maybe a boink sound, but instead she felt soft leather.

“I—” Cullen blubbered, not expecting her to invade his space bubble, and backing off. “I—”

She cut him off. “Dude, I was locked in a dungeon on your orders,” she said, as calmly as she could. “Look. Don’t trust me. Fine. I get it. But for the love of all that is holy, do not treat me like I am some spoiled little girl. Like I know. I fuck up. I say things I am not supposed to. But…please. Don’t. Just don’t. I—"

“Follow me.”

She was perfectly content to remain where she was, but she had no choice. Cullen was already making tracks. She had to jog to reach him, and finally when they made it to where he wanted her, to a covered tent, he hunched over a trunk.

He rose, something in his hand. “Here,” Cullen said. “Our soldiers recovered my trunk from Haven. I forgot I had placed these in there. Take it.”

In his hand were her Shakespeare books. And he was standing there, ready to hand it to her.

“Lucy?”

Stopping her gaping, she swiped the books, not meaning to be rude and grab it from him so harshly, but she had thought she lost them. She didn’t expect to ever have them back, to have that one link from home. But as she flipped through the complete works of Shakespeare and through her copy of _Henry V_ , she landed right at the speech. Her favorite one still, as ironic as it was.

“Unto the breach,” she muttered to herself. “Unto the fucking breach.”

“Fitting,” Cullen muttered.

“I know,” she replied. “Hey. Thanks. And thanks for calling me by my first name.”

“Why are you thanking me for that?” he asked, bemused.

She shrugged. “Seems a sign of trust has past between us, that’s all.”

“What makes you think I trust you yet?”

And with that, he was gone. He might as well as flicked his furred coat on the way out. Smug, fantasy Commander dipshit. What makes you think I trust you yet? He asked her.

Well then. Seems that was how it was going to be. At least there was a _yet._

The joke was on him now though. She didn’t trust him yet either, and he had a long, long way to go.


End file.
